The Full and Honest Truth
by Jubalii
Summary: As she stared at herself in the mirror, she reflected on how low she had fallen, and who was to blame.


The Full and Honest Truth

(Behold: an empty space of white, with only a white curtain. From behind the curtain steps a tiny woman with a scarf. She clears her throat self-consciously.)  
"Um, hi. I-I have notecards here somewhere, hang on… (Shuffles notecards). Oh! Here we go**. I do not own ****Superjail!**** or any of its characters, settings, etcetera. This is a fan-made story for my own benefit, made to show my love for a franchise. Please do not believe anything else. Thank you.** Um… I hope you enjoy my tale!"(places notecards back into scarf and disappears behind curtain once more.)

The Mistress of Ultraprison is not an ignorant woman. I should know that, considering I am the Mistress of Ultraprison. My mother raised me in the highest circles of knowledge known to both man and alien, with the strictest upbringing to pull it together. My childhood was not easy, but the hard work and neglect to my _baser_ emotions paid off in the long run, when I created the best Prison known to womankind, ruling my domain with an iron fist and a leather crop.

But oh, how the mighty have fallen! My mother would have scorned me had she been able to see me now; brought down to my knees by a buck-toothed, reckless, ill-mannered excuse for a man! He wasted what little control I had over my women and myself; not in days, but in a manner of _hours_. When I woke up next to-to _him_, the waves of revulsion that I felt were nothing compared to the horror I experienced later, when I fell so low as to sleep with him _willingly_ after being tossed aside by His Majesty Lord Stingray. I completely lost control again, this time sleeping with the transgender freak of a prison guard. Not that it was bad-no, it was actually very wonderful. For the first time in my life, I felt… free. I felt as if all the bottled emotions I had inside me were gone, and I was able to see exactly who I was.

If only it had lasted, though. After returning to my Ultraprison, I found my newfound freedom came at a price. The women no longer feared me. They didn't even respect me! Oh, yes, I heard the talk. The gossip in the showers, the whispers between the cells, and the passed notes in the courtyard…I heard it all. _That Mistress, she's so horny she'll play with anyone! Talk about being a trooper. First bestiality, now lesbianism! There's no "length" she won't go to!_

It was infuriating. Finally, the last straw came as I heard a phone conversation between Cherice and _her_ little _boyfriend_, her beloved_ Jared_, the man who _loved her._ "I don't know, Jared. She's just so strange lately. I'm not sure what she's even looking for, but she's not herself anymore. She's going after things that not even the trash man would pick up." Cherice! That Jezebel was supposed to be _my _accountant, _my _advisor! And here she is, joining in the gossip that threatened to make me crazy! It echoed in my mind, turning my senses off. All I heard were voices, all I saw were glances. Everyone was talking about Mistress, the Ultraprison's own whore. I couldn't escape. For once in my life, I was feeling. And it was painful.

I tore the flowers from my head; I smashed that damn guitar over Bruce's smug grin. No more feelings, no more heartbreak. No insecurity. Mistress was back, and not going anywhere anytime soon. I tore through the prison like a whirlwind. No-one was safe from me, not Cherice, not Bruce, not even the Clinician. By the end of the day, no one even dared to look at me.

Now, as look at myself in the mirror, I know exactly who to blame for my problems. I squint, and I see _him._ His tacky yellow glasses, his thick eyebrows, raised in a challenge… yes, he's the cause of all of this. If it hadn't been for him and his _stupid_ "Lockdown of Love", I would never have second-guessed my upbringing. A mistress can't feel silly emotions like love, or trust, or attraction. She can't spend a night free and unrestrained. She must be strong, demanding, unwavering. My mother was right all along.

I stare until my eyes water and the reflection in the mirror becomes his. I know his mind, his kind. He hides behind that goofy smile, that childish character, but that's not the true him. The true person behind those yellow lenses is sadistic, without morals or an ounce of regret for anything he's done. There's an unrestrained love of gore and violence, paired with a relentless thirst for overwhelming power that rivals my own. I remember a part of that night I spent with him: we both saw the true sides of each other.

The worst part is that I liked what I saw.


End file.
